


surprise slumber party

by flirtingwithtrackers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clarke is sexiled and needs somewhere to sleep</p><p>or, the one where clarke crashes at bellamy's</p>
            </blockquote>





	surprise slumber party

**Author's Note:**

> for [atniss](http://atniss.tumblr.com), who won a drabble in [my fic giveaway](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com/post/116748946867)
> 
> prompt: ‘my roommate’s boyfriend is staying over so can I please sleep on your floor’

Bellamy groans when he hears someone knock on the door. He’s standing over his sink, brushing his teeth. He almost doesn’t answer the door, hurriedly trying to finish, but then the knocking starts again and he practically stomps to the front door. He is more than surprised to find Clarke Griffin standing on his doorstep, a small duffle and blankets in hand.

Clarke looks surprised to see him, as though this isn’t his apartment. It isn’t until she glances down at his chest a few times that he realizes he _probably_ should have put a shirt on before answering the front door, but it’s too late now.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asks, speaking through the foamy toothpaste in his mouth.

“Wick came over again and I really need to get some sleep,” she says, and Bellamy takes the opportunity to appraise the dark circles under her eyes and the way her eyelids are threatening to close at any moment. “Can I please stay here?”

Bellamy doesn’t answer right away, slowly brushing his teeth again, making Clarke anxious.

“It’ll just be for the night, I’ll be out in the morning. And Octavia told me Miller is out of town,” she continues, rambling away as she rubs at her eye absentmindedly. “I brought my own sheets,” she says, lifting up the blankets in her hand and offering Bellamy a hopeful smile.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, come in,” Bellamy relents, rolling his eyes. He opens the door all the way to let her walk into the small studio apartment behind him. He sighs as he closes the door, sliding the lock back into place. When he turns, Clarke is already hunched over Miller’s bed, tucking her sheets in before throwing her pillow at the head of the bed. 

He walks back into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth. A few moments later, Clarke comes in, wearing a pathetic excuse for pajamas. She’s in tiny shorts and a tank top that does _nothing_ to hide the shape of her breasts. Bellamy tries not to swallow all the toothpaste in his mouth. He coughs a little, quickly spitting into the sink. He puts his toothbrush back into his mouth, looking at the shower curtain as Clarke readies her own toothbrush, avoiding both staring at her chest and making awkward eye contact in the mirror. Bellamy could be done by now, but Clarke crosses her arm over her chest, pushing her breasts up and together. His teeth could never be _too_ clean, right?

He bumps into her when he tries to leave, as she’s cleaning off her brush. Bellamy grabs at her waist, hoping to stop her from hitting the sink in front her. To his embarrassment, she doesn’t really need the help. He coughs again, removing his hands, and she gives him an adorable smile in the mirror that has him all but sprinting from the bathroom.

Bellamy sits on his bed, waiting until Clarke is settling into the bed beside his—making soft noises as she gets comfortable—before turning off the lights. Bellamy crawls into his own bed, quickly turning on his side, hoping to deter himself from staring at her as he falls asleep. She lets out a final, irritatingly adorable sigh as she snuggles into her pillow.

“Night, Bellamy. Thank you,” she says, sleepily and Bellamy tries not to imagine the small smile on her face.

“Night.”

***

In the morning, it takes Bellamy a few moments to remember that Clarke is in his apartment, sleeping in his roommate’s bed. She’s lying on her back, her pink lips parted slightly, her hair in messy waves around her face, and her legs tangled in her sheets. Her cheeks are a pretty pink from the heat, with summer quickly approaching and the air conditioner in the apartment still out.

If Bellamy thought she looked adorable tired, she’s precious in her sleep, her face relaxed and flushed. One curl is stuck to her lip, the golden strand lying across her cheek. Bellamy lowers a hand to brush it away, stopping a few inches above her cheek before cursing under his breathe and stepping away. 

He makes coffee, trying not to take peeks at Clarke over his shoulder, reminding himself of the many reasons why he should _not_ find her attractive, or wonder what her hair would smell like, or what her skin would feel like under his fingertips. He groans into his coffee mug when she shuffles in her sleep, tiny, content noises filling the empty space of his apartment.

Bellamy trudges across the apartment to the bathroom to take a nice, _cold_ shower. He lets out a relieved breath when he finally closes the front door behind him, putting a solid barrier between him and his little sister’s best friend.

***

Clarke wakes up in Bellamy’s empty apartment, her sheets wrapped tightly around her calves and her tank top bunched up around her waist. She stretches, taking in the minimal décor around the apartment—a world map on the wall above Bellamy’s bed, a large bookcase against the wall filled with journals and textbooks, a few postcards from Rome tapped above his desk. She can see some of Miller’s stuff strewn across her side of the apartment, more textbooks piled on desks, case studies left open, and a baseball mitt on his desk.

She finally gets out of bed, wandering into the kitchen. There’s a note on the counter with Bellamy’s crisp handwriting: _Left some coffee in the pot. Just lock up when you leave. P.S. You can stay as long as you need while Miller’s out of town._  

Clarke smiles to herself, pouring herself a cup, imagining Bellamy’s grumpy reluctance to let her in last night, all crumpled and sleepy. She briefly thinks about waking up tomorrow to make him a _thank you_ breakfast as she gets ready for class. She leaves her stuff folded on Miller’s bed, sure she’ll be back tomorrow night—whether or not she’s sexiled.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com) :))


End file.
